


The Words I Fumble For

by solvecoagula



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Scott McCall, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Communication Failure, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fingerfucking, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solvecoagula/pseuds/solvecoagula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles go off to college and everyone they meet assumes they're dating. They're not, even though Scott wishes they were. But he's pretty sure Stiles doesn't want what he wants. Then they have to pretend they're actually dating, and everything is confusing and awkward. Until it isn't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words I Fumble For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Werefoxes (imshakingyourconfidencedaily)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imshakingyourconfidencedaily/gifts).



> Title is from Kevin Devine's You Are the Daybreak.
> 
> Mind the tags, and be aware there are some brief references to drinking and drug use, one very brief reference to consensual somnophilia, and hints of a dynamic that some might consider slightly D/s. Just a heads up in case any of those things squick you!

The last couple of days before a long weekend break probably aren’t supposed to be this stressful. But Scott hasn’t heard from Stiles and he’s starting to freak out a little. Maybe a lot.

For months, everything had been going better than expected. Their first semester at Ulrich College was quiet and comfortable. Scott’s mom had been worried that living in the same four-man suite as Stiles would mean they wouldn’t branch out enough or meet new people, but Scott bonds with his classmates fairly easily, and apparently one of the differences between high school and college is that Stiles’ quirks make him a social butterfly rather than socially awkward.

Scott knows it’s silly, but his biggest fear about college had been that it would change his dynamic with Stiles. Orientation week had threatened to prove him right, with so many activities keeping them busy that they only saw each other in passing. But once they settled in and found their rhythm, Scott was pleasantly surprised to find he and Stiles were closer than ever. Because they had different classes (Stiles had chosen museum studies as his major because of the affinity for old books and strange artifacts he’d developed in their last years of high school, and Scott was still undecided, completing his core requirements) and slightly different friend groups, they always had something to tell each other. As uncomfortable as their suite’s scratchy blue couch was, Scott still thought it was really nice to be able to curl up with someone who felt like home after a long day.

Scott and Stiles share the couch with two other suitemates, though: Scott’s preppy roommate Drew and Stiles’ hipster roommate Eli. At some point, between Scott and Stiles’ cuddle sessions and the way they constantly borrowed one another’s clothes and their tendency to worry if the other got home later than expected, Drew and Eli had concluded that Scott and Stiles were dating. When Eli mentioned this in passing, in his typical monotone voice, Stiles had choked on his coffee and Scott just stared before unfreezing, shaking his head repeatedly, and explaining the mixup. Eli had just shrugged and shuffled off. Drew still refers to them as boyfriends, but it’s obviously a running joke. Scott thinks it would have been easy enough to correct their mistake if they hadn’t waited until 6 weeks into the term to say anything. First impressions are formed within seconds and can take years to shake off. Scott’s pretty sure he read that somewhere. But the impression Drew and Eli (and, as they had discovered that same day, about 75% of their other friends) had of Scott and Stiles as a couple had been effectively shaken, Scott assumed.

Then Saturday before Thanksgiving, Drew marches into the common room to find Scott sprawled on the couch tapping on his phone, kicking Derek’s butt in Words With Friends. 

“You know that Sophie chick? Her aunt’s coming to town and she wants to get a whole tour of the campus, see a football game, and meet Sophie’s new friends. Apparently, that includes you and your boyfriend. Her aunt is really excited to meet you, I guess she saw some pictures on Facebook and thinks you’re adorable together.”

“Drew! Stiles and I aren’t actually dating! I told you that!”

“Look, I really don’t care about your situation, if you’re friends, fuckbuddies, whatever. You let me call you boyfriends so as far as Sophie knows, that’s what you are, and her aunt is expecting to see that at the game on Sunday.” Drew rolls his eyes, looking superior and bored, as usual. The son of a billionaire from Texas, Drew has been making it clear since day one that he and his pastel polo shirts would rather be anywhere else besides Ulrich, despite his eagerness to fit in with the Greek life crowd. His voice reminds Scott of Isaac sometimes, even though he's nowhere near as nice and his curls are glossy black instead of blonde. Scott mentioned this to Stiles a while back and Stiles found it hilarious for some reason. Scott didn’t get it, but he smiled anyway. 

Scott wasn’t smiling at the moment. Drew was starting to irritate him. “That’s a joke, Drew. And you wouldn’t stop it even if I asked you to.”

"Well, Sophie’s Russian or German or whatever, you know she doesn’t understand sarcasm. And her aunt thinks you're dating and she's going to get all emotional if you ‘broke up’ because she's just divorced her husband, and I don’t want to deal with that when I’m trying to get in Sophie’s pants, so why don’t you just pretend to be dating? Do what you normally do, you guys are a cuter couple than Eli and whatshername without even trying."

Scott likes Sophie’s aunt. Maria gives good hugs and almost beat him at arm wrestling once even though he actually had to use a little bit of his werewolf strength. Scott doesn't want to make Maria unhappy, but he also doesn't know how Stiles is going to react. Drew doesn't even seem to have thought about how this might affect Stiles or Scott, though. And why would he? Stiles once described Drew as "the most self-centered person I've ever known, and that’s including Jackson."

Self-centered is probably a good word for asking your best friend to pretend to date you when you’re pretty sure he’d have a breakdown if you told him you actually want to date him.

That’s the problem. Scott has a crush on Stiles. He’s not sure when it started, but he remembers the moment he figured it out. He was in class, Modern Dance Theory and Practice, rehearsing a partners piece Professor Torres had choreographed, listening to her explain how it was an expression of love. “Mr. McCall, you need to meld with your partner,” she critiqued. “Get inside her head, move as one, anticipate her next move.” Scott was pretty sure his partner’s next move would be to vomit, since his partner Jessica was clearly hungover from the same kegger Drew had gone to the night before. But he focused on Professor Torres’ words and they sounded familiar. He remembered one of the things Eli had said about Scott and Stiles being a couple. “You move in sync, like dolphins or something.” (Eli may have been high at the time.) “It’s called mirroring, couples subconsciously copying each other’s body language. I saw it on the Discovery Channel.” The realization hit Scott like a metaphorical ton of bricks, and then he felt like he’d been hit with a literal ton of bricks when Jessica forgot to spot her chaine turns and flew into his side.

Now, Scott is willing to squash his feelings and forget about his crush, but he’s worried he might screw it up if he has to act like Stiles is his boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to say no to Drew.

“So yeah, you’re doing this. Stilinski already agreed.” He did? Scott wonders what that’s about. “I have to keep Sophie’s aunt happy and then I might finally get laid,” Drew finishes. “See you Sunday. Don’t dress stupid.”

*

Sunday morning arrives grey and chilly, the kind of day when one needs to wear layers, Scott thinks, especially if one is planning to spend a few hours sitting on one’s butt on cold metal bleachers. So he slips into Stiles’ room to borrow a flannel before waking him up.

“Hey dude,” Scott whispers, lightly squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “Time to get up.”

Stiles groans and grumbles, but eventually they make their way to the field.

Scott isn’t a fan of football per se, sports in general make him kind of nervous if he can’t be on the field to help the team or at least on the sidelines giving some input. Still, he’s usually able to follow along at least somewhat. But today, he’s distracted by the glances Maria keeps sending him, and the way Stiles’ long fingers are nervously flexing around his bouncing knees.

On instinct, Scott grabs Stiles’s hand to calm him down, lacing their fingers together, but then Stiles gives him a look he can’t interpret, and he remembers they’re playing boyfriends today. Maybe that means something like holding hands is different today and not okay. But Stiles squeezes his hand and smiles, and the knot that started forming in Scott’s stomach unravels.

Then he makes an incredibly stupid decision and leans over to brush his lips against Stiles’. Suddenly, Stiles is fidgety again and even without werewolf senses Scott would be able to tell he’s unhappy, or at least uncomfortable.

“Um, honey?” Scott says, wincing. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He leads Stiles down the bleachers and to a more private spot so he can apologize. “Look, I’m...I’m really sorry about that kiss. You’re obviously uncomfortable and I don’t want to make anything weird, so if you want to stop this we can stop this. Who cares about Sophie’s aunt, anyway?”

“Uh, you do? Because you care about everybody. Which is one of my favorite things about you. And I’m sorry if I was acting weird. This is a little much but it’s not gonna ruin our friendship, okay? You’re stuck with me for life,” Stiles grins, even though he still seems shaken and displeased. “We just have to get past the next couple hours and then we can go back to being best friends.” Stiles clasps Scott’s hand between his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Right. Just a few more hours and then they can stop pretending to be boyfriends and really be just friends. The kind of friends who hold hands and cuddle and pledge their undying devotion to each other. Scott is so screwed.

“Maybe you should just go back home,” Scott offers. “I’ll let everyone know you were sick or something.”

That seems to make Stiles sadder, which makes no sense. He deflates, and then he just...walks away. Scott is hit by a blast of what’s probably his second least favorite sensation in the world, the feeling that he screwed something up but has no idea what it is. “Call me tomorrow?” he shouts at Stiles’ back. Stiles doesn’t look over his shoulder, doesn’t even stop moving, he just raises one arm in a lethargic little wave and shuffles his feet forward through the fallen leaves.

And he doesn’t call.

*

Stiles doesn’t call Scott or text him or Facebook message him, and they live in the same suite but Scott hasn’t seen Stiles at all because apparently he found someplace else to sleep. It's been less than 48 hours since he last spoke to Stiles, but it feels like a lifetime. A really, really miserable lifetime.

That’s how Scott ends up turning off his phone and ignoring everyone so he can mope. He stares out the window morosely, not even able to enjoy the changing colors of the trees. So he climbs into bed and opens his laptop. He’s watching Pretty Wild on Netflix, fiddling with a hole in his ratty old sweatpants, and trying to muster up the energy to order Thai so he can eat his feelings, when the door to his room bangs open. It startles him. He should have heard Drew coming, but he was too stuck in his head. 

Also, it’s not Drew.

“What the HELL, Scott?!” Scott snaps his head up to see Stiles in the doorway, face red from his shouting and probably from the cold. He looks wound up and Scott wishes, not for the first time, that he could siphon off Stiles’ tension the way his powers can take away pain.

“Stiles,” Scott says weakly. “Hi.”

Stiles’ face softens a little. “Scott, why is everyone we know sending me texts about what an asshole I am for breaking your heart?”

“Um.”

“Actually, nevermind. I know why,” Stiles sighs, his eyes scanning the room. “Because everyone thinks we were dating, and you’re clearly having some weird feelings-fest that our nosy friends have chosen to interpret as breakup mode.”

“It kind of was breakup mode?” Scott explains tentatively. “I mean in the sense that we went from talking to not talking, not in the sense that were were actually dating.”

“Yep,” Stiles snaps, “we’re clear on that. I fully understand that you are zero percent interested in dating me. Heard you loud and clear the other night.”

“What?” This is Scott’s number one least favorite sensation, the feeling that something important is going over his head.

“Come on, Scott. You made me leave the game because it was that terrible to pretend to be my boyfriend–”

“I felt bad that you were uncomfortable!” Scott interjects.

“Or maybe you were uncomfortable. You know, with my big creepy gay crush on you?” Stiles blurts out.

Scott is so confused. “What?”

"Come on, you knew. You were just ignoring it to be polite. There's no way your werewolf senses didn't tell you I'm into you."

"Werewolves can't smell crushes, Stiles,” Scott answers slowly. “It's a lot more complicated than that. Did you know the human body's reaction to fear is almost indistinguishable from arousal? It takes skill to learn to the difference. Derek taught me–”

"Now is not the time for your nerdery, or your tangents about how wonderful Derek is," Stiles pouts.

"Did you really think I'd make you go through all that if I knew?" Scott asks, wounded.

Stiles suddenly looks stiff and ready to run away again. “I don’t know. I guess I figured you’d be afraid of hurting my feelings, and having you pity me would hurt more than just about anything else. You were just so vehement about denying it when everyone thought we were boyfriends, I figured...I don’t know.” Scott hasn’t heard Stiles talk this much in a long time. At least not outside nervous ranting. Stiles tends not to talk a lot when it’s about serious stuff, but right now he’s basically bearing his soul and Scott doesn’t know how to react.

Scott knows he should say something but he doesn’t even know where to start. “I guess the reason why I didn’t want anyone to think we were dating, and the reason why I really really didn’t want to have to pretend we were, is because I don’t want you to think you owe me something, you know? Or think we can’t be friends if you don’t want what I want.”

Stiles’ facial expression is completely unreadable, but his eyes look like there’s a fire behind them. “What you want?”

“Yeah, I want that, I do, I want to be the thing everyone assumes we are, I want to have all of you, because you’re the most important thing in my life. But you’re like, literally a part of me, and if I can’t have you as a boyfriend, having you as a friend still makes me who I am, and if I did something to ruin that I’d never forgive myself because I’d feel like there was something missing.” Scott doesn’t remember ever being able to talk about his feelings like this. Maybe he owes his creative writing professor a thank you.

“Wow,” Stiles whispers. “Wow.”  
“Good wow or bad wow?” Scott asks.  
“Good, but also...I’m used to the unrequited love thing, you know?” Scott feels his cheeks burn at the word ‘love.’ “It was different when it was Lydia and we were kids, but...I don’t know, it’s different. It’s scary.”  
“You’re scared of me?” Scott sounds hurt.  
“Not scared of you, you idiot,” Stiles grins.” I’m scared of my feelings for you.”  
“What are your feelings for me?” asks Scott, surprised by his own frankness.  
“Well, I guess if I had to put them in words, I’d say you’re the missing piece of the puzzle that is Stiles Stilinski,” he deadpans.  
Scott shakes his head gently, smiling. “Shut up.”  
“No, I mean it, you’re...what was it? You complete me.”  
“Oh my god, I was trying to be honest with you, not quoting Jerry Maguire.”  
“But you recognize the quote, though. So what you’re saying is you’ve seen Jerry Maguire, and you still haven’t seen Star Wars? This is completely unacceptable.”  
Scott’s smile widens. “I hate you.” It feels good to banter with Stiles again. It feels right.  
“No you don’t.”  
“No, I don’t,” Scott replies, suddenly serious.  
“I don’t hate you either,” Stiles breathes, leaning in to finally, finally kiss Scott.

Scott can’t even say it’s better than their first kiss, it’s just completely different. He can’t compare. They’re not putting on a show for anyone. They have nothing to prove. They’ve already told one another how they feel. And they’re saying it again with lips and tongues and teeth, Stiles biting at Scott’s lower lip and tugging his hair. It feels amazing.

Stiles breaks away to catch his breath. “Do you think we should lock the door?”  
“Drew apparently believes we were doing this anyway,” Scott answers. “Besides, we’re just kissing.”  
Stiles leans down to whisper in Scott’s ear, “I want to do more than kiss you.”

Scott probably breaks some records for fastest moving creature – human or werewolf – in his rush to shut the door.  
Stiles laughs loud and bright, watching Scott rush back from the door to flop on his back on the bed.  
Scott leans up and Stiles kisses him again, slower this time, more hungry. "Here," Stiles says, tapping Scott's hip to indicate he should flip over. "I want to try something."

Scott turns, crouching in the center of the bed and wiggling his hips a little.  
"I've been looking for these sweatpants forever," Stiles says, amused, as he slides them off Scott. "I should have known you stole them from me."  
“Are these yours?” Scott asks in a faux-innocent voice. “I had no idea.”  
“Liar,” Stiles scoffs fondly. “You probably like wearing clothes that smell like me for freaky werewolf reasons.”  
“Or I just like feeling close to you,” Scott replies, unabashedly sappy. “I like things that belong to you.”  
“Know what else belongs to me?” Stiles smacks Scott’s right ass cheek. “This.”

Scott yelps and flinches, then braces himself on his hands and knees, hips tilted high and his round full butt in the air. Stiles takes a moment to admire the view, then wraps his hands around Scott's cheeks and gently pulls them apart. Scott squirms at the feel of the cold air and Stiles squeezes the meat of his ass to remind him to stay still. Then he leans in and breathes hot and wet over Scott's hole, just a tease before he presses a little kiss there. Scott moans softly.

Stiles alternates between broad licks with the flat of his tongue and little lapping motions, swirling around Scott’s skin while he writhes.

"Turn over," Stiles breathes. Scott makes an indistinct noise, muffled by his pillow. "Now," Stiles insists impatiently.

"Yes sir," Scott jokes, trailing into quiet giggles.

Stiles shakes his head gently and huffs out a soft laugh. Scott could never take orders in bed without making it into a joke, he thinks. But the sudden thought, a flash vision of Scott begging, helpless, fucked-out and desperate, makes something in Stiles' chest feel tight and warm.

Scott's hair has wilted a little, partially glued to his forehead with sweat where his face was pressed into the pillow. His eyes are bright, searching Stiles' face, and whatever he finds makes him smile. He looks beautiful. Stiles wants to wreck him.

“You’re gorgeous,” Stiles says. Scott bashfully ducks his head to the side and huffs out a laugh. Stiles grabs his chin, looks him straight in the eye. “No, listen to me. You’re perfect, okay?” Scott can’t even speak, just nods. “I love you, Scott. I love your crooked jaw,” he says as he relinquishes his hold on it. “I love your smooth skin,” he says, sweeping his broad hands down Scott’s torso, catching his nails on his sensitive nipples as he goes and enjoying Scott’s little shiver. He rests his palms on Scott’s belly and digs the pads of his fingers in just a little, carefully avoiding Scott’s erection. “I love that your six-pack softened up a bit that we’re not running from shit trying to kill us all the time.”

Then Stiles straightens up. “Lube?” he asks. Scott blushes and leans across to grab the bottle, tucked between the bed and the wall. When he comes back, Stiles wraps his hand around Scott’s cock and Scott chokes off a broken sound. "Sti- I'm-"

"Shh, I got you. I got you, buddy," Stiles whispers into his temple, nosing at his hairline, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He slinks back down the bed, positioning himself between Scott’s legs, and slicks up the his fingers on his right hand.

He traces teasing circles around the rim before dipping a fingertip just inside and wrapping his lips around him. Stiles’ mouth is almost reverent, like Scott's cock is something precious he wants to savor, wants to praise. He speeds up a little, adds a second finger and starts to pump them rhythmically, counter to his mouth. When he brushes against Scott’s prostate, he doesn’t linger. Finally he can feel Scott’s balls tighten up, and he pops his mouth off his cock, wrapping his left fist tight around it while his fingers crook and press just so, rubbing firmly. Scott’s thighs quiver and he cries out as he comes all over his stomach.

Stiles is so hard he knows he’s not going to last very long at all. He slicks himself with a mixture of lube and Scott’s come. Scott watches in a daze, too blissed out to help. Stiles twists his wrist, gives himself a few sharp tugs and comes across Scott’s chest.

Exhausted, Stiles flops down on top of Scott, who should probably be grossed out by the drying come between them, but he just feels sated, safe and happy. He notices Stiles’ breathing start to even out and realizes it’s late, so he should probably carry Stiles back to his own bed before the other guys get home. He gathers him up in his arms and starts to move, but Stiles makes little noises of protest. 

"Please let me stay," he whines. "If you do I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning."

"And what if I wake up before you?" Scott asks.

"Then you wake me up with a blowjob, duh."

Scott laughs and settles himself back down on the bed. "M'serious," Stiles mumbles. "You better do it, or you don't get to be my boyfriend anymore." Scott smiles against Stiles’ neck, murmuring as he drifts off.

"Boyfriend? I like the sound of that."

**Author's Note:**

> Three things:  
> 1\. I have no idea what the weather in Northern California is like in the fall. But I'm from New England and I can't resist autumnal foliage and pumpkin spice everything and the whole atmosphere of November in all its sweater-wearing apple-picking glory.  
> 2\. Ulrich is a small liberal arts college with a solid museum studies program and required modern dance classes as part of the core curriculum, and also a party school where there are fraternities and everyone is obsessed with football. I'm sure places like this exist somewhere. (If you can correctly identify where I got Scott's dance teacher's name from, you win a prize and the prize is my eternal devotion.)  
> 3\. Drew was named something different for most of the time I was writing this, but then QuizUp happened and I thought it would be funny.
> 
> Anyway, this is for Cecelia, who likes Skittles and fake boyfriends and best friends in love and rimming, so I hope Cecelia liked this. I hope you all liked it too.
> 
> It's actually been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't tagfic or mediocre One Direction RPF, so feedback is appreciated.


End file.
